


carving pumpkins

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Series: fictober 2020 [24]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fictober 2020, M/M, Pumpkin carving, autumnal activities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27187570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: Baz is good at shit, and it’s annoying.So when Baz is bad at something I get this almost satisfied feeling. Not because he’s failing or doing poorly, but just because he’s proven to be human. His fucking vampire senses or whatever can’t make him perfect at everything after all.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: fictober 2020 [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949911
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	carving pumpkins

**Author's Note:**

> day 24: carving pumpkins
> 
> _we're going to ignore what time it is, i ended up out of the house literally until midnight, but i've yet to sleep so it's still day 24 for me_

**SIMON**

Baz is good at a lot of things. He’s smart, fit, athletic, flexible, charming, etc. He’s an expert at nearly everything, at least that’s what he’d have you believe. It’s what he’s had me believe for the longest time. It’s part of what made me hate him so much. (Suppose that wasn’t as much hate as I thought initially, though, was it?)

Anyway, Baz is good at shit, and it’s annoying.

So when Baz is _bad_ at something I get this almost satisfied feeling. Not because he’s failing or doing poorly, but just because he’s proven to be _human_. His fucking vampire senses or whatever can’t make him perfect at everything after all.

For example, Baz makes the worst cheese toasties I’ve ever eaten. He’s certainly gotten better over the years, I’ve been teaching him how to not burn them horribly and how to make sure the cheese melts enough. He still makes the worst in the flat, though. Even Penny’s are better.

He’s also surprisingly bad at putting furniture together. He gets frustrated too easily and is bad at following the instructions, he thinks they make no sense and tries to go off on his own. It’s always a failure that ends in him huffing and puffing, and me finally putting the thing together properly.

Baz doesn’t need to be perfect at everything, no matter how much he thinks he does. I think it’s endearing, how hard he tries not to burn food for me. And his frustrated pout is adorable. He’s just used to things coming easily to him.

He’s sporting a frustrated pout now, bottom lip pushed out just a bit while he frowns and narrows his eyes at the pumpkin sitting on the table in front of him.

We’ve found another thing he’s not that good at. Pumpkin carving.

I’m not that good at it myself, but I’ve at least done it before. Apparently it wasn’t a popular activity in Pitch Manor, and whenever they did anything with pumpkins Baz would let Mordelia take the lead.

It doesn’t help that he’s probably chosen the most complicated design he could possibly find. It’s meant to be a crescent moon with a cat sitting on the bottom and a bat off to the left. Something properly Halloween-y.

Presently, it looks a mess.

He’s got little chippings of pumpkin on his shirt because he’s been trying to do that thing where you don’t carve a complete hole, just scrape off a layer of the pumpkin’s shell. _Trying_ is the operative word in that sentence.

“Do you need any help, darling?” I ask, trying not to sound so pleased seeing him struggle. It’s not that I _want_ to see him struggle. But you have to admit, if you spent nearly eight years being annoyed at someone for being so fucking _perfect_ , you’d be a little pleased when they weren’t, too.

Baz narrows his eyes, shooting me a glare that would embed itself in my soul like a dagger if I didn’t know him so well. He’s just frustrated.

Especially because I announced I was finished ten minutes ago.

I carved a rather basic jack-o-lantern face, giving it fangs and one raised brow. When I finished I turned it around and told Baz I’d done him.

He wasn’t entertained, but I saw a softness in his eyes before he spat some insult back at me.

I like that I can see the softness in him now. We’ve been together for a long time, I like to think I know him fairly well. He knows me just as well, can tell when I need space or need to be held, or when I’m just moody ‘cause I’m hungry. Stuff like that, and other important stuff.

I can tell when he’s genuinely frustrated and starting to beat up on himself, too. And I know he’s so good at things because he can’t stand _not_ being good at them, he puts effort into perfection because he’s afraid of failing. Pumpkin carving isn’t a high stakes activity at all, but I can see the moment his annoyed-that-I’m-struggling pout shifts into his disappointed-in-myself-for-struggling frown.

He should never be disappointed in himself.

I push my chair back and stand, moving behind Baz and rubbing at his shoulders as I take in what he’s gotten done so far. He’s already carved out the top half of the moon, but now he’s trying to figure out the cat. It’s a tricky design, and I told him that when he chose it. Still, he’s always going to challenge himself.

I kiss the top of his head then rest my chin there.

“Can I help you, love?” I ask, because I have to let him make the decision to accept my assistance if we’re going to quiet his inner scolding voice. He huffs and I squeeze his shoulders again.

After a long beat he finally nods his head.

I reach down and take his hand that’s holding the little carving knife. I guide his hand over the outline, instructing him on how to properly go about the cut so he doesn’t accidentally cut the wrong pieces. He lets me do most of the work, though I use his hand to do it all. It’s probably a good learning technique or something, I don’t know, I mostly do it so I can lean over his back and hold his hand and stay close.

Together we get the cat and the moon bits completed, but now he needs to do something on his own to restore his confidence. I let go of his carving hand and reach over to turn the pumpkin until the bat outline he’s drawn is facing us.

“You can do the same for this that we did for the cat,” I say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m going to go check on dinner.”

“Si, wait.” He grabs my wrist before I can turn away, looking up at me with another emotion I recognize instantly in his eyes. _Love_. Appreciation. And he says, “Thank you.”

I lean down and kiss him, whisper a ‘you’re welcome’ against his lips, then kiss him again for good measure.

By the time I get done helping Shepard with the last of dinner, Baz has finished his pumpkin and is placing lights into both of them.

Shepard and Penny, who chose dinner duty over carving pumpkins because they’re boring, start bringing food out to the little table we’ve got in the garden. They both inspect the pumpkins, commending us both on our hard work.

Penny clocks that mine’s Baz in an instant. He rolls his eyes, but then kisses my temple, so I think he knows it’s a bloody good design. (Shepard compliments his pumpkin and it’s hard to miss him grinning at the praise.)


End file.
